


A Boy and a Bouquet

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, First Meetings, M/M, spock is a good son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: Based on an au prompt; "I’m allergic to flowers but I work in a flower shop – you’re a customer who’s very confused as to why I’d do that."Guess who.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thanks tumblr user nerds-are-cool
> 
> crossposted on my tumblr

Jim rubbed at one of his eyes as he watched the other man slowly circle around the shop, looming over the different flower arrangements and reading the information cards as if they held the secrets to the universe. He’d been in there for at least fifteen minutes now, hands clasped behind his back, the faintest of lines between his brows as he concentrated, never so much as leaning down to sniff at a bloom. When Jim had noticed the pointed ears, he at first attributed it to his blurry vision, but no–there was a bonafide Vulcan window-shopping at his flower store.

Usually Jim didn’t go for Vulcans because, well, Vulcans didn’t generally like getting got, but there was something about this one that had Jim looking back at him again and again, staring before he caught himself and turned back to the register behind the desk, face growing warm. He was _cute_. It was impossible to think otherwise about someone who was considering marigolds with such a serious face.

But that was one thing that sucked about working at a flower shop–hot people who came in to buy something were usually already off the market.

He felt a sneeze tickling the inside of his nose and moved too late to stifle it, his half hearted attempt coming out sounding kind of like an elephant. He tried not to be too, well…absolutely mortified.

The customer looked up at him, acknowledging his presence for the first time since the polite nod he offered when he entered the shop. Jim’s face turned red.

“Are you ill?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, but with no change in his affect. Hopefully Jim wasn’t about to get chewed out for potentially spreading illness to his customers or something stupid like that.

“Nah,” he replied, and then cleared his throat, steeling himself. “’S just all this pollen.”

“You are allergic to flower pollen,” the Vulcan said-asked in the flat voice they tended to use. “And yet you work in a flower shop.”

Jim shrugged, leaning on the counter, switching to the offensive. “It’s a favor for a friend. Besides, we do good business.” He waved a hand, dismissing the question, and put on his best flirtatious smile, resting his chin on his hand. Hopefully his eyes weren’t so puffy that it ruined the effect. “Are you looking for anything in particular? Need a bouquet to woo any gorgeous friends?”

The Vulcan watched him, the silence stretching on for just a moment too long to feel natural. “No,” he answered, eventually. “My mother requested flowers for her birthday. However, I am not certain what is most appropriate.”

“Oh, well, let’s see,” Jim let himself out from behind the counter, smoothing down his apron. “I don’t really know much about Vulcans, but…”

“She is human.”

Jim’s eyebrows went up at that, but he quickly schooled his expression. He didn’t want to offend anyone, he was just surprised. Vulcans weren’t outwardly hostile to humans, but they definitely kept their distance. The idea of a family unit containing a mix of them was pretty mind-boggling.

“Huh,” he went, focusing very suddenly on shuffling flowers around in an arrangement. “Do you know what kinds of flowers she likes? Or colors, even?”

Those thin eyebrows drew together as he gave the question almost grim consideration. “I have not noticed her express a preference for any particular variety. She is appreciative of many different floral species. However, I believe she has a fondness for the colors blue and green.”

“Blue and green,” Jim repeated to himself, immediately going around the store and plucking flowers from their vases as he did so, gathering a bouquet in his hand. Sniffing feebly. Once he circled back to the desk, the Vulcan was standing there, watching him with obvious interest. “What do you think?”

He tilted his head, and considered the arrangement.

“I…defer to your expertise.”

Jim laughed, and if it was a little too hard, well–he hadn’t had this much fun all day. “Smart man. Do you need anything else? A vase, maybe?” he said, going back behind the counter to wrap up the flower stems, getting fancy with the ribbons just because he could.

“I do not require a vase.” He was, however, examining an assortment of not-actually-flowers flowers they had near the front; made of glass, wax, metal, et cetera. He picked up a wooden rose, and Jim’s entire world slowed itself for a moment to watch the deliberate, unhurried movements of those slender fingers, rolling the stem to examine the petals.

Their eyes met, and Jim quickly went back to his task, taping down the ribbon and ringing the bouquet up on the register.

“I would like to purchase this, as well.”

“Sure.” He rung it up. “Anything else?”

“That will be all.”

Jim nodded, carrying out the transaction and trying to keep his eyes on his work without seeming standoffish. He’d been staring too much already, and he didn’t want to make the poor guy uncomfortable.

Except when he finally looked up, he was met with an intent, brown gaze that momentarily froze him in his tracks.

“I wonder,” the Vulcan started, in a tone that had the barest hints of uncertainty, “if you would be willing to help me with one other thing that my mother requested of me.”

Jim blinked. Then he blinked a couple more times, for good measure. “I–sure, I’ll give it my best shot. What is it?”

The Vulcan spun the wooden rose in his hand a moment longer, and then presented it to Jim, eyes determined but head tilted in question.

His brain was taking its sweet time catching up with the situation, because his hand was already taking the flower before he had the sense of mind to blush or become indignant about the fact that some dude was trying to hit on him at work.

Except, goddammit, he was totally into it.

“She asked that I ‘find a nice boy to bring home.’ “ Those pointed ears were definitely turning green at the admission. “I do not presume to know your availability or your preferences, but if you are willing, perhaps we could…” He glanced away, for just a moment. “Rather, I would like to get to know you.”

A wooden rose. He’d gotten him a fake flower because he was allergic to the real ones. _Holy shit_.

Jim put a ridiculous amount of energy into making sure his grin wasn’t  _too_  dopey. “You…are adorable,” he said. “But I’m gonna warn you in advance that I’m not the kind of guy that people usually bring home to their parents.”

The Vulcan raised his eyebrows, looking…looking like he was laughing at him, somehow. “Are there criminal elements to your work here at this…flower shop?”

Jim laughed, halfway in surprise. “Alright, you got me.” He set the flower down, rummaged around underneath the counter until he found a marker, and twirled it between his fingers. “What are the chances of you letting me write my number on your hand?”

Another head tilt. “Is there a benefit to writing it there as opposed to simply telling me?”

“Well, yeah, you might–” _Forget_. Except no, he wouldn’t, because he’s Vulcan. Jim could hardly be blamed for not being used to flirting with one, though. “You…probably wouldn’t forget, actually. It’s romantic, though. You gave me a flower, it’d be ruining the mood to just wave our phones at each other and have you walk off.” The _obviously_  was implied.

The Vulcan considered him for a long moment. He didn’t look entirely convinced, in the end. Despite that, he offered his hand, the other one tightening on the bouquet, the plastic film crinkling under the miniscule shift.

Jim grinned, and took it, writing his number up the side in the most deliberate strokes he could manage, noting the cooler temperature of his skin. And, because he was James T. Kirk, he signed it with a kiss, lifting their hands to place his lips against his knuckles, noting with pleasure that the Vulcan didn’t move to pull his hand away.

“Will that be all?” he asked, smirking.

“Yes.” His voice was steady, but his face was flushed green as he unhurriedly took back his hand. “Thank you, Jim.”

He blinked. Then he remembered that he was wearing a nametag. Right.

“You’re welcome…?” he responded, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Spock.”

“Spock,” Jim parroted. “Well. Have a nice day, Spock.”

“You, as well.”

“See you soon?”

“Yes. I hope you will.”

The bell above the doorway got the last goodbye.


End file.
